Reconcile
by Trufreak89
Summary: The chance of running in to Emily Fields is the only reason you came to this thing tonight - It's been ten years since you left Rosewood behind you, since you picked up the shattered pieces of your heart and tried to move on with your life.
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary:**__ Out of the corner of your eye, you spot the one person you really didn't want to see tonight. Except that's a complete lie, because the chance of running in to Emily Fields is the only reason you came to this thing. It's been ten years since you left Rosewood behind you, since you picked up the shattered pieces of your heart and tried to move on with your life.  
__**  
Disclaimer: **_I don't own PLL, or anything related to the show.

_**A/N: **_This was originally meant to be a Paily one-shot, just trying out a different style of writing, but it turned out longer than I expected. I'm working on the second part now, and it'll probably end up being about 3 chapters.

* * *

Cheap whisky burns the back of your throat as you knock it back in one long gulp. The ice cubes in your empty glass clink together as you put it down on the makeshift bar that spans half the length of the gymnasium. The bleachers have been pushed back, and there are chairs and tables covering most of the floor. A section has been left empty for people to dance to the cheesy house music that the DJ in the corner has been playing non-stop. It's like prom, only everyone attending is old enough to drink.

You kick at one of the balloons littering the floor as you order a beer. The whisky was just to steel your nerves; too many of those and you'll be on your ass before the night has even started. So you stick to bottles of tepid beer, and sip at them cautiously as your try to mingle with people you haven't thought about in years. It's your ten year reunion. You hadn't wanted to come, but it's been a long time since you've been home to see your folks, and you felt guilty enough to come for the weekend. You try not to come to Rosewood very often if you can help it. You got out of this town before the ink on your high school diploma was even dry, and you've never looked back.

Four years at Stanford was amazing; it was your chance to reinvent yourself. Your skin still has the soft, sun-kissed glow that comes from living in sunny California, even though you've been a New Yorker for the last few years. You fiddle nervously with the label on you beer bottle as you move around the room, making small talk with people whose name's you've long forgotten; that's if you even knew them in the first place.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot the one person you really didn't want to see tonight. Except that's a complete lie, because the chance of running in to Emily Fields is the only reason you came to this thing. It's been ten years since you left Rosewood behind you, since you picked up the shattered pieces of your heart and tried to move on with your life.

It's been ten long years, and Emily isn't the girl you fell in love with any more. She's a woman now, and more striking than ever. She's wearing a figure hugging black dress, that stops just above her knees and showcases her long, lean legs. Her hair frames her face in soft, silky curls and her lips are curled up in a smile as she talks to some girl who might have been on the swim team; you can't quite remember. Sometimes, when you close your eyes at night, you can still remember the smell of Emily's shampoo. There are even times when you roll over and, just for a second, you catch her lingering scent beside you on your pillow. You might have moved across the country, but you never really moved on.

You're still watching your ex when she looks up and catches you in the act. You swallow hard, fighting the urge to drop your eyes and duck your head. You're not sixteen any more though, so you force yourself to keep looking and even manage a hesitant smile. Emily returns it with a small nod of her head. Suddenly she's touching the arm of the girl in front of her and excusing herself to make her way over to you. Panic starts to bubble up in the pit of your stomach, and you start to wish you'd been able to have another shot of whisky or two before she'd spotted you.

"Paige, hi." The way she says your name still has your toes curling. You think of all the other times you've heard your coming from those lips, some good, some bad. It seems like a lifetime ago now.  
"Emily." You nod at her, trying desperately to keep your cool. It's funny how ten years of progress can vanish in the blink of an eye when Emily Fields is smiling at you. You've come a long way since she first said goodbye.

You're a successful entrepreneur, working as a life coach in the big apple. Sometimes it seems pretty ironic that your job is to help people put their lives together, but it's something you're good at and you enjoy it; it helps that people pay you a ton of money for your services too. You're not sure what Emily does. You made a point of cutting her out of your life, like a heroin addict going cold turkey; right now you feel about ready to break in to a cold sweat.

"I saw you at Rio, you were incredible." Emily compliments you while wearing an easy smile, like you're just another one of the nameless faces at this reunion. "You totally should have gotten that third gold. That Australian swimmer definitely had a false start." You took home two gold medals at the Rio Olympics, for the 200m and 400m team relay, but you only managed silver in your individual 100m freestyle race. It's the story of your life, always coming second. Part of you wants to tell Emily that your consolation prize for losing out on the gold was getting to fuck the Australian who stole it from you, just to spite her; but too big a part of you worries that she won't care.

"Thanks. It was a crazy experience even making the national team." You go for bashful instead of spiteful, because that's just who you are. You wanted to hate Emily when she broke up with you over outing Allison DiLuarentis to the police, but you just couldn't. You've never been able to hate Emily. Everything you did was to protect her.

You feel a twinge of pain in your left knee, a cruel reminder of why you'll never make it to another Olympic games; not as an athlete anyway. Two years ago your career as a professional swimmer ended when your mountain bike snapped in half on a particularly perilous trail, and sent you crashing in to the dirt. Your left knee was the first thing to hit the ground, taking most of the impact and shattering your kneecap. You ended up with a load of metal screws in your knee to keep it together, and a ton of physical therapy to get you walking again. Even now you still end up with a slight limp when it's cold outside and the pain flares up.

There's an ugly three inch scar running across the length of the front of your knee. It's the reason you're wearing a suit tonight, and not a dress. The pants are black and fitted, and the matching jacket is a tux, tailored for a woman's body. A crisp white shirt completes your ensemble. You have to admit you looked pretty good, standing in front of the mirror in your childhood bedroom before you left for the party. Of course you don't look anywhere near as good as Emily does, but at least the suit is designer. It's by some up and coming New York design company who are the hottest thing right now. It might have cost a small fortune, but it's like you keep telling your clients: You have to dress for success.

"So what are you doing now?" Emily probes. She's making all the effort to keep the conversation going, while you just stand there and gawk; it's like history repeating itself. You clear your throat and take a sip of your beer before answering, sure she's going to laugh in your face when she finds out you're a life coach. She doesn't. She seems genuinely fascinated, as you tell her about the work you do. "Wow, that sounds so cool. You should totally take Hanna on as a client!"

"Em, I'm a life coach, not a miracle worker." You both share a laugh. Emily doesn't seem to notice the way her nickname just slipped out; or maybe she does and she just doesn't mention it.  
"Well you should have a go anyway. Our apartment is total chaos thanks to her!"

_Our apartment?_ So she's living with Hanna. Either her best friend has changed teams over the years, or Emily's not seriously involved with anyone. As if picking up on your thoughts, she elaborates. "We're kind of doing the whole spinster thing and living together. She's a nightmare to live with, but it's totally worth it. We have this loft in Soho, it's a total cliché I know, but it's _so_ gorgeous."

She lives in New York. You're both living in the same city and you never even knew it. That's the anonymity of city life for you. "Awesome. What is it that you do?" It seems a little easier to talk to her now that you've finished off half of your beer, and you know she's not married or anything. You ask her what she does for a living, and almost choke when she tells you she and Hanna design their own clothing line. The jacket you're wearing is actually one of theirs. Half of your wardrobe must be their designs. You're not sure why you're surprised though; Emily always knew what looked good on you.  
"Wow, I'm wearing you tonight!" Of course, you're Paige McCullers, and articulation isn't your strong suit. "My tux!" You quickly add, trying not to come across as a complete dork.

"I thought it was." Emily laughs, and it lights up her whole face. God, you've missed her laugh. She spots Hanna over by the bar, talking to Sean Ackard. You spoke to him when you first got here an hour ago. He's married to his college sweetheart, and they have two blonde haired, blue eyed boys. He insisted on showing you the pictures in his wallet. You expect Emily to leave to go and join her friends, but she surprises you by waving Hanna over instead.

"Paige!" Hanna Marin is as bubbly as ever as she throws her arms around you. There's a faint smell of tequila about her that could also explain her friendliness. She pulls back, and grins as she runs her hands down the front of the lapels of your jacket. Maybe she _has_ changed teams after all. "I told you these would look great long and narrow! They totally feminise it." Emily gives the blonde the same kind of patient smile that you'd give to a three year old sticking out their tongue, and you bite back a smile. You can only imagine how fun it must be to work _and_ live with Hanna.

You somehow end up spending the rest of the night by Emily's side. Every time you try and slip away, Hanna just drags you back in. She even follows you to the bathroom. Twice. You think you might be standing a little too close to your ex-girlfriend, but after a couple more beers you stop caring. Your hand finds the small of her back, and she doesn't pull away. So you keep it there. It's an ingrained instinct, to stick close. To try and protect her.

There's nothing to protect her from any more. A is long gone. There are no more texts, no more threats. The last you heard, Allison is on the other side of the world, so Emily is even safe from _her_ poisonous influence. You're glad that she's happy, that she's in a good place; you just wish that you could have played a bigger part in that happiness.

What could have been a painstaking reunion, turns out to be a pretty fun night. Before long you realise it's almost midnight and the party is winding down. You feel a little sad at the prospect of leaving and never seeing Emily again. It's like you've drank an entire bottle of vodka after ten years of sobriety, and you're expected to just go right back to being stone cold sober tomorrow; but when Hanna finds out you live in New York now, she lets out a squeal of delight and insists you all have dinner some time. You swap numbers, but you don't expect either of them to call. Tonight's been nice, but you're sure Emily is going to go right back to forgetting all about you once she walks out of the door.

You head outside as a group, and the cold night air instantly hits you, making you feel a little light headed. You stumble a little in your heels, you think you must be more drunk than you realised. Emily keeps you on your feet. Her arm is linked through one of yours, keeping you steady. You're grateful for the support, since your knee is aching and just about ready to give out on you. The heels were a bad choice.

Sean hasn't been drinking, so he offers to drive everyone home. You politely decline the offer. You've already called a taxi, and you're not quite sure you could handle being pressed up against your ex in the back seat of his car. Emily lets go of your arm so Hanna can give you a hug goodbye. She makes you promise to call about dinner soon.

Emily waits until Sean and Hanna are in the car before she turns to you. She's wearing a strange expression, one that you can't quite pin down. It's a shock when she steps in close and wraps her arms around you in a lingering hug. Your body feels on fire everywhere she's pressed against you, and it takes every ounce of willpower that you possess not to bury your face in her hair; you're sure her scent is going to haunt you forever. "Hanna's right about dinner. You have to come over to the loft. Soon."

You nod at her, not trusting yourself to say anything. You didn't even expect her to speak to you tonight, never mind invite you over to her place. "Goodbye, Paige." She squeezes your hand with a smile, pulls away, and climbs in to the waiting car. Even after all these years, it never gets any easier to watch her walking away from you.


	2. Chapter 2

It's less than a week after the reunion party when you hear from Hanna. She invites you to dinner the following Friday. You're a little surprised that she actually called, but she did. So Friday afternoon, you find yourself standing in your underwear, glaring at your open closet. You don't have the first clue what to wear to a dinner party with onefashion designer, never mind _two_. Hanna failed to mention the dress code, even though she was on the phone to you for over an hour. You can't even recall half of what she said, you were too busy thinking about seeing Emily again. _  
_  
You fuss over a few different outfits, hating every one of them. Eventually you admit defeat and call someone who can help. It doesn't take Hanna long to pick up. "You better not be cancelling on me, McCullers!"  
"I'm not! I'm actually calling to ask what I should wear. Is this thing going to be formal, or should I just throw on some jeans and a t-shirt?"  
"Text me your address and I'll come right over!" Hanna sounds far too elated at the thought of coming over to play dress up. By the time she makes it to your house you're already having second thoughts about asking for help in the first place.

She's barely through the front door when she's frowning down at the sweat pants you're wearing. You just threw them on when she said she was coming by, along with your favourite Stanford hoodie; which is so old it's almost threadbare. "Wow, you _really_ need my help." She rolls her eyes at you as she drops her purse on the distressed leather couch in the middle of the living room. You live alone in a brown stone that cost you a small fortune. It's effectively a bachelor pad, with leather couches and a top of the line entertainment system in the living room. The kitchen is all modern stainless steel and marble, since it's easier to keep it clean when you're actually home to cook. There's a fully equipped home gym in what should be your guest room, it's not like you get many guests over anyway.

"What the hell is that?" Hanna spots the 'art installation' in the corner of the front room.  
"It's a reminder." The heap of mangled metal is what remains of the mountain bike that snapped in half on you; ending your swimming career and hurtling you in to some of the darkest days of your life. The idea of having the bike turned in a sculpture came from the life coach your mom hired, to get you back on track when you tried to slip off the map.

The reasoning behind it was supposed to be that you'd pass the ruined bike every day and night and be reminded of just how lucky you are to still be able to walk; to even still be alive. The life coach literally changed your life, but not in the way either of you were expecting. She gave you a new purpose, a sense of direction. She was also pretty good in bed, but that's not exactly something you shared with your mother when she asked how things were going.

"A reminder of what?" Hanna presses you as she idly spins one of the pedals on the bike. You fill her in on the meaning behind the wreckage, and why it has pride of place in your living room. "That's kind of cool; but right now all I'm interested in is your closet!" Hanna laughs as she pulls you in to your bedroom. You flop down on to your bed as the blonde rifles through your clothes. She's practically giddy as she realises just how many of her and Emily's designs you own. Her eyes go wide at a particular piece; a low-cut navy blue dress that you've only worn once before.

"Oh my god, this one!" She claps her hands with glee. "How do you even _have_ this? We only made like six of these! It's Emily's absolute favourite."  
"It was a gift. One of my clients gave it to me." You try not to dwell on the fact that Hanna is picking what you should wear based on what Emily will like. "I don't really like it." It's a lie. The blue dress is your favourite too, but the hemline is too high; it shows off the scar on your knee. You can count on one hand the number of times you've worn a dress since your accident.

"Are you kidding me? This thing is gorgeous! _You _will look gorgeous in it! So put it on, now!" She thrusts the dress at you and expects you to change right in front of her.  
"Hanna, I can't..." You feel a lump forming in your throat as you rub absently at you knee.  
"Give me one good reason why?" The other girl isn't taking no for an answer, and demands an explanation as to why you're not willing to wear the most expensive item of clothing you own.

"This is why." You huff as you roll up the leg of your sweatpants, revealing the thick, pale scar running across the length of your patella. Hanna does an impressive job of trying to hide her reaction; you almost don't catch her grimace.  
"It's not that bad...don't you have some flesh coloured tights or something?" She goes back to rummaging around in your drawers, and eventually finds what she's looking for. She tosses the tights at you, and folds her arms as she waits expectantly.  
_  
"_Can you turn around or something?" Years of team sports and changing in front of other girls, yet you're nervous about the blonde seeing your body. She shoots you a disbelieving look, but turns around all the same as you pull your t-shirt over your head. The dress fits like a glove, and the tights don't look too bad. You can barely see the scar through them.  
"Perfect!" Hanna beams at you as she turns back around. "Now we just need to do something with your hair!"

'Doing something with your hair' turns out to mean Hanna fussing over it with curlers for an hour. It's after seven by the time you get to the loft that Hanna and Emily share. You're too nervous to really take in the scenery as you step out of the lift. It's one of those hip, open plan, artist-like studio places. It's a perfect fit for Hanna, but you can't really see Emily here. For some reason you always imagined her living in a cosy little house, with a white picket fence out front; maybe that's just a relic left over from the days when you dared to imagine the two of you living together after college.

"Hi, Paige." Your eyes land on Emily, and the rest of the apartment slips away from sight. She's all you can focus on. The dress she's wearing is silk, and a gorgeous, deep purple colour. It stops just above her knee, and has a plunging neckline that's probably going to be catching your attention all night. Her hair is tied back in an elegant bun, revealing a swan like neck that you must have kissed a thousand times in the short time you were together.  
"Hey..." Your own voice sounds foreign to your ears. Maybe it's from all the blood rushing to your head as she moves in closer, greeting you with a hug. It feels a little stiff and formal, on both your parts, but that's hardly unexpected after a decade apart. Your body aches for hers the second she pulls away. "Your place looks great." You gesture around the open loft, but your eyes are still on your ex; Emily Fields, the epitome of 'the one that got away'.  
_  
"_You should see Paige's place, it must have cost a fortune!" Hanna breaks the ice in her usual brash fashion, reminding you both that she's actually there. She ushers you further inside the apartment, directing you over to the couch that dominates the living room. It's a rounded corner piece that could easily seat five or six people. The material is soft and you sink right in to the deep seats. You're wary of it's crisp white colour, especially when Hanna hands you a glass of red wine. The sofa looks expensive and, even after all of this time, you're still a little clumsy. It'll be a miracle if you make it through the night without spilling anything.

Hanna takes a seat on your right, and Emily sits to your left. She seems just as apprehensive as you as she pulls at the hem of her dress and sips at her wine. Conversation is a little stunted at first. Maybe the reunion was easier since you were both drunk. You start to worry that coming over was a mistake, but then Emily starts to open up. She comments on your dress, telling you the same thing as Hanna, that it's her favourite piece. The navy blue colour reminds you of your time with the Rosewood Sharks, that's one of the things that drew you to it in the first place. You wonder if the colour holds the same significance for Emily as it does for you.

After you've all finished your first glass of wine, Hanna tops you up and the three of you head over to the dining table. Dinner comes in take-out cartons and you're touched that they still remember what you like. You talk about your time touring in Asia, promoting the sport you loved so much while you were still at the top of your game. Hanna hangs on your every word, but Emily seems distracted. You catch her rubbing absently at her shoulder, at an injury that probably healed up years ago. She's thinking of everything she missed out on by smashing up her shoulder in senior year; you know because you always touch the scar on your knee whenever you think about how your swimming career ended. You wish Emily could have had her fair chance at getting to the Olympics, like you did. Things could have been so different, if she'd only gotten in to Stanford with you. You would have actually given up your dream of California for her, if only Allison hadn't come back and wrapped her right around her little finger again. You'd already lost her by then, so there didn't seem much point in losing out on Stanford too.

Hanna is as perceptive as ever, and she picks up on the change in the atmosphere around the table. She gets the wine flowing, and the conversation picks up right along with it. She and Emily talk about their experience at college, and how they started their design company; they admit it was almost by some fluke that they grew so successful. You're happy for them, glad that something finally went right for Emily; nobody deserved a break more than her and her friends.

By the time you all move back over to the couch the first bottle of wine has been polished off, and Hanna cracks open the vodka. You know exactly what she's doing as she constantly tops up your glass. She's trying to get you and Emily drunk to see if anything will happen, if any old sparks will suddenly rekindle. You're eager to find that out yourself, so you don't stop her as her measures grow more and more liberal through the night. The last time you drank this much it ended with an intervention. You found yourself in a deep, dark hole after you shattered your knee, with no way to climb back out; so you just sank further and hit the bottle harder. Your mom saved your life when she hired you a life coach. It wasn't quite in the way she intended, but the gesture was there. Your life coach sobered you up. She pulled together the broken pieces of your life, much the same way the metal screws in your knee helped knit your shattered bones back together.

The alcohol gives you the buzz you need to relax around your first love. It seems to have the same effect on Emily too. She sits beside you on the couch; closer than before, with her knees tucked under her, and a soft smile on her lips as you talk about your experience at the Rio Olympics. There's no bitterness in her expression, she's genuinely happy for your achievements. "So is it true everyone screws around at those things?" Hanna asks with her usual candour. The scarlet colour that your cheeks turn answer her question for you, and she won't let it drop until you tell her who you slept with. When you mention the Australian swimmer, the one who stole the gold from you, you feel Emily stiffen beside you. You catch the way her gaze drops to the rim of her glass and her lips purse. You're not quite sure what it is you see in her expression; you'd like to call it jealousy, but you don't want to get your hopes up.

Somehow, you end up spending the night. You try telling the girls that you're fine to take a taxi home, but they won't hear it. Hanna stumbles towards her room, intending to fetch some sheets to make up the couch, leaving you and Emily alone for the first time all night. She goes to push her hair back behind her ear, a nervous habit, only to remember it's tied back. "You can take my bed if you want? I'll have the couch."  
"Em, I couldn't kick you out of bed." Your voice comes out a little too husky, and the meaning of your words seem to change once they pass your lips. "I mean...I...the couch is fine." You give up trying to dig your way back out of the hole you've just made for yourself when Emily starts to laugh. It's a light and teasing chuckle, and it makes you realise just how much you've missed the way her eyes light up when she's smiling at you.

"I'll get you something to sleep in, and some blankets. Hanna's probably passed out by now." Emily gets to her feet, and she's a lot steadier than Hanna was a moment ago. Her hand brushes lightly against your shoulder as she passes you. The action seems deliberate, and you struggle not to close your eyes over in response. You're friends now, that's all; her touch isn't supposed to still effect you the way it does. You avoid looking her in the eye when Emily comes back to make the couch up for you. It turns out she was right about Hanna passing out. You both mumble a goodnight as Emily heads back to a room. You change in to the bedclothes she's borrowed you, and instantly regret it. Her scent is unmistakable, and it wraps around you like an old comforter; drudging up memories of a time when the only blanket you had needed had been Emily's body.

It's impossible to sleep. Every time you close your eyes you think of every soft caress of Emily's hands against your skin, every gentle kiss she ever pressed to your lips...it's torture of the sweetest kind. A sigh of frustration leaves your lips, and turns in to a grunt of pain as you try to roll over on to your side. The sofa cushions are deep and soft, but they offer little support to your knee. You didn't expect to be spending the night, so you didn't think to bring any of your pain meds with you. You toss and turn for hours, before a noise down the hall startles you in to an upright position. Your hand automatically grabs for the nearest thing you can use as a weapon, which happens to be Hanna's empty vodka bottle. You grip it tightly in your right hand, your eyes keenly scanning the darkness for any sign of a threat; this is the legacy that growing up in Rosewood has left you with.

"It's just me." You hear Emily whisper, and you let the bottle drop from your hand. It falls to the plush carpet, landing without a sound. "Sorry if I woke you." She pads closer, stopping by the end of the couch. You shake your head at her, push your hair back from your eyes, and offer her a tired smile.  
"You didn't. I don't sleep a whole lot these days."  
"Me either." She admits in a whisper; like you're sharing some deep dark secret. Between the two of you, you have enough secrets to last ten life times. She curls up on the edge of the couch, right by your feet. You sit up and adjust the blanket so it's covering her legs. She's wearing sweatpants, but the temperature has dropped and she appreciates the extra warmth your covers offer her. "Getting out of Rosewood meant I could stop sleeping with one eye open, but it's hard to break the habit. It's hard to feel safe anywhere." She rubs at her bare arms, but the kind of chill that settles over her isn't the type that can be banished with a blanket. Her admission breaks your heart; all you ever wanted was to protect her, but you couldn't. You failed. You scurried off to California without looking back. Ten years and you couldn't have even made one lousy phone call, just to check in on her?

Of course you couldn't. It would never have ended with just one call. When it comes to Emily Fields, moderation just isn't your strong point. You can't just have a piece of her, you need it all; that's why you could never just be friends, why you still can't be. You both seem to reach the same conclusion as your gazes lock. Emily's the first one to look away. She ducks her head, fidgets nervously with her hair. It would be so easy to reach over and try to kiss her. You had the courage to take that chance once before; in the school parking lot, with your heart pounding in your chest and your lips shaking with the fear of being rejected. It would be oh so easy to kiss her, but you're not so sure the aftermath of such an action would be quite so easy to live with. "I should have fought harder for you, for us..." The words are old ones, but you mean them just as much as you did ten years ago.

Emily still won't look at you. Her attention is fixed on the ugly scar that runs the length of your kneecap. Shifting the blanket left your bare knee exposed for her to see. You rush to cover it, hating that she saw it, but her fingers reach out and brush tentatively over the raised skin. Her brow knits together as she frowns, and you struggle to try and decipher her expression. "No." She finally looks up at you. Her fingers grow still. "I was the one who should have fought harder." Your eyes lock, your lips suddenly feel dry, and just for a second you think she might just lean over and kiss them. She leans in close and your heart is going like a jack-hammer inside of your chest. Her lips find your cheek. It wasn't quite what you were hoping for, but it's more than you ever imagined you would get.

A big part of you wants to turn your head and try to kiss her for real, to make up for ten years of lost time, but fear paralyses you; the fear of history repeating itself. How many times have you done this dance? How many times can you keep setting yourself up to fail? Emily takes the decision out of your hands as she pulls back and gets to her feet. You're not sure why she even came in here, but she doesn't seem to leave with anything. "Goodnight, Paige." You close yours eyes over, willing for sleep to take you; you can't bear to watch her walk away from you one more time.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for reading and for all the feedback! I would be tempted to carry this on, but it really was just meant to be a one-shot to try out writing in a different style; and I'm working on about half a dozen, longer, Paily fics as it is.**

* * *

"You're late!" Hanna accosts you the second you step out of the lift and in to the spacious loft that she and Emily share. You've been there so often lately that it almost feels like a second home. Dinner with the girls has become a regular thing, whether it's at their house or yours; you prefer going to the loft though, you can't settle when Hanna's walking around your house, unsupervised, touching your things. "I'm starving!" The blonde whines at you as you carry the take-out cartons you're holding over to the kitchen counter. She fetches the plates while you help yourself to a beer from the fridge. It's been a long day, working with one of your more difficult clients, and you've been looking forward to dinner and a movie with Hanna.

Emily won't be joining the two of you tonight. She's got a date. She didn't tell you much about the girl, but Hanna told you it's one of the models from a shoot they did for their new fall clothing line. You're dressed in sweats and your favourite old Stanford hoodie. With your hair tied back in a messy ponytail, you're hardly any kind of competition for a professional model; Emily's face still lights up at the sight of you though. She walks over and greets you with a kiss to your cheek. That's the way things have been since that first night you came over, you both always seem to find some excuse to touch. "Hey!" You give your ex a playful scowl as she reaches behind you and steals a mushroom from your moo shu pork. "Aren't you supposed to be going out for dinner?"

"It's a gourmet restaurant, the portions are going to be tiny." She objects, while helping herself to one of your fortune cookies.  
"I got an extra carton. I'll leave it in the fridge for you for later." **  
**"You're amazing." Emily grins at you, and plants another kiss against the side of your cheek. "See you later. Bye Han!" With a wave over her shoulder, she heads out the door; off to meet her model friend. Hanna catches you watching Emily go, she rolls her eyes, but chooses not to say anything about it. She gives you the same look your father gave you when you mentioned running in to your ex at the reunion; you haven't told him how many times you've seen her since.

You're distracted all night. It's hard to focus on the movie you're supposed to be watching, when all you can think about is Emily. You picture her date as some perfect supermodel, and start to imagine she won't come home tonight. You're not sure if you could handle seeing her sneaking back in to the apartment in the early hours of the morning. By ten o'clock you've talked yourself in to faking a headache so you can go home. You're just about to tell Hanna that you're leaving, when you hear the ding of the elevator. "You're home early." Hanna voices what you're both thinking as Emily flops down on to the couch between the two of you.  
"It doesn't feel early. Tonight was the longest night of my life." She grumbles in response, and kicks off her heels with a heavy sigh. "My date was so _boring_! All she talked about was shoes!"

You can't help the smug little smile that graces your lips as you realise your fears about Emily not coming home were completely unfounded. You should feel bad that she's had such a terrible night; but you're more relieved than anything else. "I don't know why you keep going out with models. We all know you're more in to-" Hanna stops abruptly as she catches Emily glaring at her. You know what she was going to say. You're well aware of what Emily's type is.  
"Ballsy women." You grin at your ex, thinking of stolen kisses and rustic bars. Emily blushes. She dips her head and bites at her lip; clearly thinking of the same things.

"I'm overdressed. I'm going to get changed." Emily announces, finding an excuse to get up and leave. You watch her go, wondering what would happen if you got up and followed her. You end up staying where you are, sipping your beer in the hope of either gaining some courage, or losing some sense. Once Emily's changed for bed, she comes back out and settles herself on the couch, in the gap between you and Hanna.  
"Make yourself comfortable." You scoff at her as she puts her feet up on Hanna's lap. She responds by leaning back against your shoulder. It's exactly the response you were hoping for. Emily's weight against you is comfortably familiar. Your hand settles on her hip, almost by instinct. Her eyes never leave the screen, but you feel her sink further back in to you.

Later in the night, Emily shifts positions so she can lie down. You end up with a cushion on your lap, along with Emily's head. One of her hands finds it way to your knee You're wearing shorts, and you almost jump out of your seat as her fingertips brush against your scar. It's taken almost a month, but you're finally comfortable enough around her and Hanna to wear shorts for bed, instead of staying in your sweats all night. "You okay?" Emily feels you tense, and mistakes your discomfort for pain. She looks up at you, her face a picture of concern. "Do you want me to get you your pills?" You've started leaving some of your pain meds here; for all the unplanned sleepovers you seem to be having.  
"I'm good thanks." It's not your knee that's distracting you, it's Emily. It's every part of her that's pressed against you. It's the scent of her shampoo as you rest your chin against the top of her head. It's the softness of her skin as you run your hand up her side; it's every last thing about her.

"I'm going to bed." Hanna announces before long, and it's not exactly a surprise. She's always trying to get you and Emily alone together. She says she's going for an early night, but you know she's just going to climb in to bed, with her TV on low. Not that you mind some alone time with your ex; you just wish one of you would have the guts to actually put it to some good use. Neither of you moves a muscle though. The two of you are a tangle of limbs on the couch, and you're quite content to stay there all night. Emily tries to stifle a yawn, but you still hear it.  
"Are you tired? I can go if you want me to?"  
"Paige, you're spending the night. Remember?" She looks up at you with that condescending, yet adoring, smile; the one she used to use whenever you were being a goof-ball, which was most of the time. "I should be asking _you_ if you're tired. I am taking up most of your bed after all."

"I think we've already established that I wouldn't kick you out of bed, Em." You smile down at her, liking the way her nickname tastes on your tongue after all these years. It gets you wondering what her lips would taste like after all this time. It's all you can think about as you look at her, praying to every deity you can think of for the courage just to lean in and kiss her. Emily bites at her lip as she looks away, shattering the illusion that anything could ever happen again between the two of you. Years of self reliance have taught you to build your defences back up pretty fast. You try to hide how much you're hurting inside as you rub at your knee. It's starting to ache from being in the same position for so long, and it gives you inspiration on how to make a hasty retreat.

"I should go home tonight. My knee's pretty sore, and I should probably sleep in my own bed." You expect Emily to sit up and let you go, but she doesn't budge. She looks up at you with those big, pouting eyes of hers, and you know you're a goner. You've never been able to say no to her.  
"You could sleep in my bed tonight?" Emily makes the same offer she's made to you a dozen times before, but something in the tone of her voice sounds different. You turn her down all the same; there's no way you could fall asleep with her scent on your pillow.  
"I can't let you sleep on the couch."

"Who said anything about me taking the couch?" Emily shifts so she's sitting up. She's sitting between your parted legs, and staring at you like she's just set a challenge; you've never been one to shy away from a challenge, but you have to stop and think about this. You've spent ten years trying to build yourself back up after the first time Emily destroyed you, you're not sure you could do it a second time.  
"Em, if I stay..." You can't look at her. It would be impossible to turn her down if you did. Emily doesn't seem to realise this though. She takes hold of your chin and tilts your head back up so you're looking her in the eye. "If I stay tonight, I'm not sure I could walk away again."  
"I don't want you to." Her admission is little more than a whisper, but you hear it just fine all the same.

When she leans in to kiss you it's like the fourth of July. You close your eyes over, and there are literally fireworks going off behind your eyelids. Her lips are soft and full, and her arms drape around your neck like a favoured scarf. You pull her on to your lap, craving more of her; _all_ of her. She's the greatest addiction you've ever faced in your life, and ten years of sobriety have left you desperate for a fix. Teeth and tongues clash as you kiss each other with a fevered passion. Neither of you utter a word as you make your way from couch. It's only as you have Emily pushed up against her bedroom door, with her hand hand on the door knob, that you stop to question whether this is really a good idea. Emily has her doubts too. You can see them playing out across her ever so expressive face. Emily's too easy to read, that's what makes her such a terrible liar.

She's wondering if this will be a mistake. If this time things will end just as badly as before; if you'll both be strangers again by the time your next reunion rolls around. She's looking to you to be the strong one, to reassure her that everything will turn out okay. You can't tell her that. You can't know for sure that you'll get your happy ending this time. For all you know, you could be about to make the second biggest mistake of your life; letting Emily go the first time was your biggest. "Do you think we can really do this? That we can just pick up where we left off, like the last ten years never happened? That it's not too late?" Emily is desperate for you to say yes. The words are right on the tip of your tongue, but you can't say them. You can't just forget about Allison and 'A', and the rest of all the crazy stuff that happened in Rosewood. You can't forget, but you can forgive. It's been ten long years, and you're finally ready to let the past go. One kiss from Emily Fields and you've achieved what years of therapy and life coaching couldn't. It feels like you've taken your first breath in a very, very long time.

Your hand covers Emily's, and her bedroom door opens with a loud click that echoes in the otherwise silent hallway. You kiss her again, trying to find a way to convey everything you're feeling. You've never been great with words. They're so easy to trip over, and you wouldn't know where to start when it comes to telling Emily how deeply you love her. So you kiss her, long and hard, hoping that your actions will speak loud enough for you.

The two of you stumble in to Emily's room, both afraid to let go of the other, even for a second. The back of your legs hit the edge of her bed, and you drop down, pulling Emily along with her. Your lips part for a second, just long enough for you to think of something to say. The words aren't perfect, but then Emily doesn't want perfect. She wants you. Even with all of your demons and your many flaws. Even after all this time, Emily Fields still wants you. "No. It's not too late."


End file.
